


Still the One I Want

by wesawbears



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Timelines, M/M, Modern AU- sort of, Modern Jaskier and Canon Jaskier switch timelines basically, body swap- sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:14:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 8,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23618845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesawbears/pseuds/wesawbears
Summary: For the prompt: Show Jaskier wakes up in the modern world, only to find that he's apparently married to Geralt. Meanwhile, Modern Jaskier wakes up without his phone, without modern conveniences, and finds that his husband has gained two swords and an oblivious streak. Now, he has to break a spell, and, apparently, teach another Jaskier's Geralt how to appreciate what he has so he can go home.And it's only Tuesday.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 223
Kudos: 1108
Collections: Best Geralt, Good Relationship Etiquette (familial included) - or Good BDSM Etiquette - or Good Relationship and BDSM Etiquette, Witcher Kink Meme (Dreamwidth)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't pretend to accurately portray hospitals or recovery from head trauma. I did some research, but not a lot. All typos are mine. I know chapters are short, but I'm working with the time I have right now. Thank you for reading!!!

Jaskier wakes to a room that is far too white, surrounded by an abnormal beeping, and thinks for a not insignificant moment that he’s died. He moves to press a hand to his pulse, and finds that his movement is restricted, and that one of the beeping contraptions is pumping something into his hand. He presses his other hand to his mouth and struggles to control his breathing. He doesn’t want to show...whatever, or whoever has taken him that he’s panicked. He has to appear in control. 

His memory is slow to return, and his body feels heavy and sluggish. They drugged him, no doubt. He makes a mournful noise in the back of his throat. Damn it all, losing his memory would make writing a song about his brush with death dreadfully difficult. He turns, looking to see if he’s at least been taken with his notebook and his lute, but he can’t seem to find any of his things. The thing in his arm is also really starting to restrict his movement, but- sweet Melitele that hurt. It was really stuck in there. He begins pulling in earnest when one of the contraptions starts beeping loudly, and the room is flooded with people in strange coats, all white, trying to hold him down.

He thrashes, and thinks he almost bites one of his capturers when he sees, “Geralt!”

And it’s definitely Geralt. The white hair, the layers of muscles, the permanent crease between his brow. But the clothes he’s wearing are odd, and his swords and armor are nowhere to be seen. He also looks halfway between relieved and scared shitless, which in normal circumstances Jaskier would relish, but right now only serve to tell him he’s more fucked than he realized.

Someone is holding Geralt back from him, and he hears them speaking quietly, saying, “We don’t want to alarm him. We don’t know how much he remembers…”

“How much I remember of what?” He glances at Geralt, because even in the strange clothes, he’s the only familiar thing, and says, his voice smaller than he means, “Geralt, where am I?”

Geralt’s face crumples at that the the people move away. Good. Even without his swords, he’s sure Geralt could kick their asses. “You..there was an accident. We...I didn’t know if you would wake up and I...fuck Jaskier.”

He looks...he looks like he’s about to start crying, and Jaskier honestly doesn’t know what the fuck to do with that. He doesn’t cry though, just swallows and does the jaw click Geralt always does, and Jaskier untenses a bit. “What...what kind of accident?”

Geralt runs his hand through his hair. He looks like shit, like he hasn’t slept in ages. “You-fuck. You fell down the stairs, and must have whacked your head on your guitar case. I came home from work and- I don’t know how long you’d been there.”

Jaskier isn’t sure what a guitar is, but it has a case, he’s sure it’s like his lute. “...is it okay?”

Geralt sends him a look so disbelieving that he knows it’s him, underneath everything. “Yes, your damn guitar is fine.”

Jaskier feels indignant on behalf of his alternate self’s instrument. “Hey! My guitar is very important to me.”

Geralt shakes his head and mutters something about priorities. “Well, my husband is a little more important to me than his guitar.”

Husband? Oh. Oh shit. 

His panic must register a bit on his face, because one of the healers in the strange outfits rests a hand on Geralt’s arm, that he weirdly doesn’t shove off, too focused on Jaskier. “He needs to rest. We don’t want to risk furthering the trauma with too much excitement.”

Geralt nods. “You should sleep. I’ll be here if you need anything.”

Jaskier rolls his eyes. It seems this Geralt is as shit at taking care of himself as his Geralt. “You like you haven’t slept in days. Go sleep. And wash your hair.”

Clearly their relationship is the same, because Geralt huffs a laugh. “You don’t look so hot either, babe.” 

And that- that Jaskier doesn’t know what to do with.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so excited at the interest you guys have shown already! Your comments and kudos mean so much, and I'm having a ton of fun writing this. 
> 
> As always, all typos are mine, no beta, we die.

Jaskier wakes, and finds himself on the lumpiest mattress he can think of, which is a feat, because he slept in some pretty odd places during his college days. He recalls one particular instance where he’d, quite literally, fallen asleep standing up like a horse, against a wall. Okay, maybe that one had happened after college, and maybe Geralt had laughed at him when he couldn’t move his neck the next day, but he was just jealous that Jaskier could sleep so easily while it took him a calendar week to find a position comfortable enough for him.

He doesn’t remember going out the night before, but apparently he’d gotten riotously drunk, because he was in a weird bed, in weird clothes, and his head was absolutely pounding. The room had no light, not even a pull cord, but there was at least sunlight coming in through a window. There was a candle on the nightstand, and it was freezing. Dear God, was that an actual fireplace? Where the hell had he gone?

A chill went up his spine (and not just from the room). Had he been kidnapped? Had he gone home with someone? Geralt was probably losing his mind, so Jaskier flailed around for his phone, headache be damned. Where the fuck was it? In his panic, he faintly registers footsteps before his husband comes in the room. Only…

“What the fuck are you wearing?”

Geralt blinks “My...armor?”

Cool. Cool, cool, cool…

“...why would you need armor?” Jaskier asks slowly.

Geralt moves closer, moving his head roughly despite his protests. “The healer didn’t say the wound affected your head…”

“Wound? Healer? What are you talking about? This isn’t funny, Geralt?” Jaskier feels his irritation growing. Geralt usually dealt with his hangovers by making him breakfast and giving him Advil. He didn’t understand why he was being such a dick about this.

Geralt curses under his breath. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Jaskier feels telltale burning behind his eyes. “Nothing! I remember...I remember you going to work, and texting you funny gifs for you to open on your lunch break…” he cuts himself off when he sees that Geralt is looking at him like he’s grown a head or three.

“Texting?” he asks, tilting his head.

“Yes. With a phone? Where is my phone?”

“Your...phone.” Geralt says, sounding like he’s having trouble getting his mouth around the word.

Jaskier huffs. He knows he sounds petulant, but he’s scared and so far, Geralt has done absolutely nothing to comfort him and this is without a doubt the worst day of his life. “Yes. My phone. How else would I get a hold of you?”

Geralt still looks like he doesn’t know what Jaskier is talking about, and he feels the burn of angry tears starting to push through. “Look, whatever joke you’re playing, it really isn’t funny. I have a headache, and I don’t know where I am, and you’re being a really shitty husband if you can see that I’m really upset and you haven’t even tried to hug me. Can you please stop being an asshole and tell me what’s going on?”

Geralt looks...shellshocked is the only way to describe it, and Jaskier feels a flicker of sympathy. He knows how much Geralt already berates himself for not being perfect. But surely he knew how- mean he was being?

“Jaskier…” Geralt says, looking viscerally uncomfortable. “We aren’t- married.”

Jaskier feels indignant before looking at his hand and his heart lurches. Because Geralt has never, in three years of marriage, ever taken his ring off. Not when he punched that guy who slapped Jaskier’s ass at the bar, not when he nearly broke it after closing the door on it, not even when Jaskier got pissed at him and threw his own ring at him. 

He looks down slowly at his own hand and sees that he isn’t wearing his own either. Worse, there’s not even a faint line to indicate that it had ever been there at all.

That’s when Jaskier begins to sob in earnest.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all are far too nice to me, I swear. I'm so excited by all the interest this is getting. I just hope you're not disappointed. The plot of this is...loose. I am known for two things: emotionally horny scenes and banter. Plot is secondary.
> 
> Either way, this chapter is a little filler, but I thought it'd be fun to see an outside point of view. Next chapter will actually move the plot along a bit.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

Eventually, after some prodding from the doctors and Jaskier, Geralt goes home to take a shower and sleep. The cot at the hospital hadn’t been the most comfortable thing he’s ever slept on, but it was better than going back to their apartment where he’d have to see the spot where Jaskier had fallen. It was more doable now that Jaskier was stable, but it still caused Geralt’s heart to freeze up in his chest when he thought of it.

Geralt had never been more terrified than had been seeing Jaskier lying there, unmoving, waiting to feel his pulse flutter under his fingertips. Now, he did his best to get in and out, still not wanting to linger. The apartment felt empty, and too quiet without the sounds of Jaskier filling it.

When he gets back to the hospital, Jaskier’s awake and looks alert, if a little restless. “Not gonna try to rip your IV out again?”

Jaskier huffs and makes a face. “I’ll just be here longer if I do. The...nurse already told me that.”

Geralt chuckles. “That’s true.” He had his own stories of getting bitched out by nurses for trying to leave the hospital sooner than he should. It’s hard to say which way he thought Jaskier would lean. He was an absolute terror when sick, worse than Ciri, wanting attention like nothing else. But he guessed he wasn’t surprised that Jaskier would want out of bed. He never could sit still.

He sits in the chair next to the bed and places his hand on top of Jaskier’s. “I was so fucking scared…” he says, lacing their fingers together. He’s not usually this forthcoming with his feelings, but he thinks he’s entitled when he thought his husband was about to die. 

Jaskier looks wide-eyed and a little hesitant. “You were?” he asks, and Geralt’s heart gives a funny jump.

“Of course I was...I love you…” He knows he doesn’t say the words as often as Jaskier, but he reminded Jaskier of it often enough...didn’t he? He had never seemed surprised before. “Baby?”

Jaskier swallows. “Yeah, I know that! Of course I do.”

Geralt nods slowly, hoping it’s just Jaskier recovering and not something more. “And you don’t remember anything?” he says, trying to change the subject.

“No. Not really.”

“Hmm.”

At that, Jaskier cracks a smile. “You know me, absentminded as always!”

Geralt rolls his eyes fondly. “I swear to God if you were texting me when you tripped…”

The laugh this time is a bit more stilted. “Yes. I’m always...texting.”

Geralt tilts his head slightly. “The fact that you haven’t even whined about not having your phone is worrying me.”

“Well, who knows? Maybe it will be good for me to have a break.”

Geralt laughs and jokingly lays his hand on Jaskier’s forehead. “Are you sure you’re my Jaskier? Or did you just hit your head even harder than we thought?”

Jaskier wets his bottom lip. “I’m...yours. Always. As long as you want me.”

Geralt furrows his brow. “Where is this coming from, baby? Of course I want you.”

“Just...tired, I guess.” Jaskier gives a faint smile. “I must look a sight after that fall.”

“Eh...some bruises. You cut your head a bit. It might scar. You’re always saying you think my scars are...stories or something. Now you have one.” The words feel stilted in Geralt’s mouth. But if he’s got to do the talking for both of them, he’ll try his best. Whatever makes Jaskier smile.

Jaskier runs his hand over his temple. “Am I still pretty?”

Geralt smiles. “You’re always pretty. Too pretty for your own good.” He leans forward to kiss Jaskier, and feels him gasp into his mouth. He’s simultaneously worried and a little pleased at how his heart rate kicks up at that. After a moment, Jaskier relaxes against him. He pulls back after a minute.

“You’re probably tired. I should let you sleep.”

“I...yeah,” Jaskier says, looking dazed. Geralt knows he’s likely to get thrown out by a nurse, but he’s never been good at listening when it comes to Jaskier. He stays until he falls asleep, and tries to chalk up his weirdness to recovery.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for your kind comments and your interest! Enjoy!

Geralt manages to calm Not-Jaskier down enough for him to nibble on some bread and sit quietly while Geralt thinks. He hadn’t known what to do at first- Jaskier was prone to dramatics, but he’d never seen Jaskier cry like that. It strikes him that perhaps Jaskier didn’t feel comfortable crying in front of him, and the thought settles unhappily in his gut. This Jaskier was clearly accustomed to crying in front of- whatever version of Geralt he was used to. His...husband.

It had to be a spell. He just didn’t know what mage Jaskier pissed off enough to cast it. Or what the purpose was.

“You’re pacing,” Not-Jaskier says, and Geralt hmms.

“I’m thinking.”

“Could you think more quietly? Or perhaps remember that there’s another perfectly capable person in the room who could help? Who wants to help?”

Geralt levels him with a disbelieving look. “You want to help?”

“Excuse you! This doesn’t affect only you.”

Geralt takes a deep breath and turns. “I doubt you’ll be of much help, if the spell’s affected your memory-”

“Spell? Like magic?”

“Yes. What else would it be?”

Not-Jaskier manages to look awed and a little sheepish. “Magic’s real here?”

Geralt grunts. “I suppose it’s not where you’re from?”

During his crying fit, he’d managed to glean that this Jasier was from a different timeline, somehow. He’s never heard of a spell that does such a thing, but he’s hardly aware of every spell on the continent. He’d ask Yennefer, the next time they met, but if he enlisted her help now, she would just laugh herself off the continent at his misfortune.

“Nope. No magic for us,” Not-Jaskier answers.

“Just those...screens you were talking about.”

Not-Jaskier nods. “My phone,” he says, looking mournful. “I’m in an alternate universe where my husband wears crazy-hot leather armor and magic exists, and I can’t even show my Instagram followers.”

Rather than work to unpack what any of that meant, he focused on the parts he understood. “You said-we’re married in your universe.”

“Yes.”

Geralt nods. He doesn’t know what to do with that information, but it could prove...useful. “Did you have a fight?”

Jaskier thinks. “I don’t-think so? He’d been working a lot and I was worried, but we weren’t-fighting.”

The spell was likely from their end then, which is what he suspected. Still, it was good to confirm it. He certainly wasn’t curious about the details of a version of himself that was married to Jaskier. Definitely not.

Not-Jaskier interrupts his musing. “Do you and your Jaskier fight a lot?”

Geralt blinks. “He’s not- my Jaskier.”

Not-Jaskier smiles a little. “Are you sure about that?”

“Hmm.”

Not-Jaskier rolls his eyes and flings himself back across the bed dramatically. “Well, what was happening before you went to sleep yesterday?”

“I was fighting a vampire nest-”

“Ooh, vampires! Were they the sexy kind?”

Geralt doesn’t dignify that with a response. “I was fighting a vampire nest and you-Jaskier- he didn’t listen and followed. They had a mage with them.”

“To do...magic.”

“Yes.”

Jaskier raised an eyebrow thoughtfully. “You know, in all the movies, the magician always says something spooky before they cast a spell. Did they say anything?”

“I was more focused on the vampires.”

“Hmm. Well, it’s probably trying to teach one of you a lesson.”

“Or they were just trying to kill us.”

Not-Jaskier makes a face that almost rivals actual Jaskier in petulance. “Did the mage hear you say anything to him?”

Geralt wracks his brain. “I...told him I didn’t need him to go with me?”

Not-Jaskier tuts.

“What?”

“It sounds to me like you weren’t appreciating your Jaskier.” When Geralt scoffs, he continues, “What? I feel some solidarity with my counterpart.”

Geralt sighs and turns away. It was bad enough when Jaskier tried to read into his motives; it was worse when a strange copy did. “Why would a mage care how Jaskier was feeling?”

“This happens all the time in movies! She was trying to teach you a lesson!”

Geralt grunts. He didn’t know what a movie was, but if any version of Jaskier liked it, it was sure to be frivolous and irritating. Still, if there was an angle he wasn’t considering, he might as well try it. “You think she wanted me to...appreciate Jaskier.”

“Maybe. And luckily, she sent an expert! I can teach you!”

“Hmm.”

“Do you have a better idea?”

Geralt sighs. He fucking hates magic.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you for your enthusiastic responses, and thank you for your patience! I had some busy days with work/school, but it is the weekend so I have more time. Enjoy!!!

Jaskier gives himself an abundant amount of credit for not completely losing his shit when this Geralt kissed. Because he had definitely wanted to scream and shout, his highly conflicted mind going too fast. The idea of his Geralt kissing him was a pipe dream, a flight of fancy that Jaskier would indulge himself in at night when the fire was too cold, but forgotten in the morning.

Jaskier was very good at falling love, and it proved a useful trait to have to distract him from the decidedly more than feeling he had for Geralt. He told himself for months that this feeling would fade eventually, but over time, it had only grown to sit uncomfortably in his chest.

This Geralt’s kiss was firm, but gentle, and easy to get lost in. He thought the experience would be a balm, something to take the edge off of his desires, but it just hurt. His mind couldn’t stop comparing it to his Geralt. Would the Geralt he knew have a little more bite, the teeth of the White Wolf? Or would he be gentler, less sure, just as afraid as Jaskier of messing this up?

He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes hard enough to shake the image. This had to stop. He couldn’t keep hurting himself, or lying to this Geralt, who thought he was kissing his husband that he clearly adored.

He would have to tell him.

As if on cue, Geralt comes into the room and his face melts into sympathy. “Headache?” he asks, making his way to the bed and kissing his forehead.

Jaskier squeezes his eyes shut against the tenderness. “Just a little. Nothing really.”

Geralt nods a little, the little furrow in his brow returning. Jaskier wants to kiss it, and is reminded of his task. This would be easier without the little things that felt so much like his Geralt. Like this was real.

“We should...we need to talk.”

Geralt looks wary. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“It’s not...bad. I mean, it is, but it’s not…”

Geralt eyes him, looking equal parts amused and concerned, like his Jaskier always has trouble stringing sentences together. He brushes a lock of hair off Jaskier’s forehead and his resolve settles.

“If I tell you something, do you promise to believe me?” Even if it sounds absurd?”

“As opposed to the things you say that aren’t?”

“Hey!”

Geral chuckles and takes his hand. “I’ll believe you.”

Jaskier nods. “I’m not...Jaskier. Or, I’m not the Jaskier you’re married to.” At Geralt’s puzzled face, he continues. “Physically, I am. Or, I suppose I must be. I haven’t really, ah, checked. But, my mind...I’m from somewhere else. I know a Geralt, but we’re not married. I’m pretty sure he feels...lukewarm about me, at best. But it doesn’t feel right, kissing you, when I am tragically in love with him, and you are in love with a version of me that is not here.”

Geralt stares at him and Jaskier holds his breath. After the silence stretches too long for his liking, he says, his voice small, “You promised.”

Geralt sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. “Okay. So...you’re Jaskier. But not...my Jaskier. Like...the multiverse?”

“What, ah, does that mean?”

Geralt looks a little red. It’s terribly endearing. “Like...comic books. So, there’s Amazing Spider-Man and Ultimate Spider-Man. They’re both Peter Parker, but different timelines.”

It’s Jaskier’s turn to stare confused. “I...imagine it’s similar?”

Geralt nods. “So my Jaskier is…”

“Probably in my world.”

“With your Geralt?”

“He’s not-mine. Tragically unrequited love, remember?”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier rolls his eyes. “And here I thought you were a better conversationalist than the Geralt I know.”

Geralt huffs a little. “Is this sort of thing normal in your world?”

“It’s never happened before, but magic can do a lot of things.”

“Magic?”

“What boring, terrible place is this where you don’t even have magic?”

Geralt smirks a little. “New York?”

“It’s dreadful.”

Geralt laughs at that until they settle into a more comfortable silence. “So what do we...do?”

“I don’t think we can do much. With me, hooked up to these…”

“Machines?”

“Yes.”

“Well...what’s the last thing you remember?” Geralt asks, leaning back in his chair.

“He was fighting...something. Some monster.”

“And that’s not a figure of speech.”

“No.”

Geralt nods “And then?”

“I was angry. Because he kept telling me to stay at the inn. And- the mage. She was there! In the inn! She must have heard us argue and wanted to fuck with us.” Jaskier thinks. “But there’s no magic here.”

“I’m sure they’re working on it.” Geralt says, before a strange look crosses his face. “But...could she be here?”

Jaskier hums. “It’s possible, I suppose. But like I said, it’s not like I can do much investigating.”

“Well...why don’t we start with what we do now.”

Jaskier nods. He has to believe he’ll get back to Geralt eventually. He just hopes that Geralt is looking for him too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier: I'm from another dimension.
> 
> Geralt, himbo king: Oh cool, I will not question this at all.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all again for keeping with me! And for everyone who commented that Geralt accepted the story pretty quick in modern world, you'll see what he's thinking about everything soon ;)

Jaskier sits against the headboard, feeling pleased with himself. All of this was still terrifying, but he felt better now that he had a project to focus on. Geralt seemed equal parts impatient to get this over with, and uncomfortable, but Jaskier had never been one to back down from a challenge, no matter how ill advised. He would get him to talk.

“So…” he began, lazily tapping his fingers against his knee. “How did you two meet?”

Geralt sighs, and Jaskier begins to worry that he won’t answer. After a long moment, he says, “Tavern. He started following me.”

“And you let him?” Jaskier leans back. That was promising, at least.

“Hmm.”

Jaskier rolls his eyes. “I know this conversation is outside your wheelhouse, or whatever, but I would very much like to go home sometime. So you’re going to have to give me more than hmm.”

Geralt looks exasperated, but underneath that is a twinge of...panic? Jaskier hums and tries to sound as soothing as possible. “Look. Once we figure this out, I go home, and no one ever knows what you told me. I am the safest person to say stuff to. Who am I going to tell that matters to you?”

A beat passes before Geralt gives the barest hint of a nod. “I wasn’t going to let him keep with me, at first.”

“What changed?”

“He showed me he wasn’t a complete idiot.”

Jaskier nods slowly. “It’s a start. But can you be more specific?”

“He seemed...determined to make people think better of me. It was only fair to let him try. And part of me...wanted to see what would happen.”

Jaskier scribbles in a notebook, trying to keep track of threads. He hopes other Jaskier will forgive him for using his things. “And when did you know you had feelings for him?” It’s a risky question, but if he’s here, it has to be because Geralt’s in love with other Jaskier. It didn’t make sense otherwise.

Geralt makes a face like he’s just touched a hot stove. “I don’t...know when.” He thinks. “How did you meet your husband?”

Jaskier smiles and sits up. “Which time?” 

Geralt’s brow furrows. “Either. It might help us figure out the similarities.”

Jaskier hums. Even if it’s a completely non-sentimental reason, he’ll never turn down an excuse to tell the story. “Well, the first time, we met at a bar. I got...a little drunk and flirted with him. He bought me an Uber and sent me home. Didn’t even give me his number.”

He had been distraught at the time. He knew he was too drunk to hook up, for sure, but he hadn’t been drunk enough to forget the feeling of those strong hands holding him up, the soft, but rough voice in his ear, the pretty golden eyes and white hair.

“And?” Geralt prompts, interrupting his musing.

“And then...I was out for a walk and found a bird caught in a fence. I called animal control and lo and behold who my savior was.” Jaskier smiles wistfully at the memory. “He sat there for the whole hour it took to get the poor thing out. Took another hour to sit and calm me down. I got his number that time.” 

“Animal control?”

“Yeah. He likes animals. Doesn’t like people.”

Geralt nods, but doesn’t cut in, so Jaskier takes it as a cue to keep going. “People assume he’s scary because he’s big and quiet. But he’s not.” Jaskier swallows, trying to hide his sadness at thinking about his husband. He takes a moment to collect himself before looking up to find Geralt looking at him. “Your turn,” Jaskier says, unable to say more through the lump in his throat.

Geralt is quiet for another moment before he says, “I sleep better when he’s there.”

Jaskier nods, giving him time to gather his thoughts. He continues, “I woke from a nightmare and he thought I was still asleep. He was...singing a lullaby. And stroking my hair.”

When Jaskier looked up, Geralt was staring at the floor, as though he had just admitted something shameful. Jaskier gentles his voice and says, “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be taken care of.”

“I can take care of myself.” A strange look crosses over Geralt’s face after he says it. “Shit.”

“What?”

“I...heard something similar once from someone I cared for.”

“And what did you tell them?”

Geralt sighs. “That they didn’t always have to.”

“Just because you can take care of yourself doesn’t mean you need to all the time. If Jaskier likes making you feel good, why is that bad?”

“Because...I shouldn’t. Need it. Shouldn’t get used to it.”

Jaskier nods. He’d heard this before, from his Geralt. “I think your Jaskier needs to hear you say that.”

Geralt grimaces. “I thought this was about me taking care of him.”

“I think to know how to, you need to talk. Consider this...a practice run of that conversation.”

Geralt sighs, but nods, looking like he’d rather chew glass. “Is that lesson one? Talk to Jaskier?”

“Hmm...yes. I think so.”

Geralt grunts and pushes away from the bed. “I need some air.”

Jaskier nods. He wanted to do some exploring around the room anyway. “I’ll be here.”

Once Geralt left, Jaskier lay back in the bed and started leafing through Jaskier’s song book. He knew it was terribly private, but it would give him some clues. 

This is for both of us, he thought. He just hoped that he was right and that he would be back in the arms of his love soon.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, thank you guys so much for reading and commenting/subscribing/kudoing. It really means the world to me to see the interest in this story that I never expected. This chapter is a little filler-y (It's hard to move the story in the modern chapters), but next chapter will be longer and pretty plot heavy, since we're starting to get to the end. Enjoy, and hang in there!

Despite what he’d said earlier, Geralt isn’t completely sold on what Jaskier’s told him. An alternate universe was a lot to ask someone to believe in. Still, he knew Jaskier was recovering and didn’t want to distress him. Jaskier had asked that he trust him, so that’s what he was going to do.

The consequence of that decision was that he found himself talking down notes about an actual mage and the reasons why she might have cursed his not-husband. Fun.

“Theory one,” Jaskier says, looking imperious as he leaned against his pillows, “I pissed her off.”

“Seems likely,” Geralt says, a quirk to his lips.

Jaskier’s jaw drops dramatically. “Hey! What about me says that I am the likely culprit?”

“I may not know you entirely, but I know my husband. We’re not allowed back in 5 bars.”

“That’s all?” Jaskier says with a smirk, before seeming to catch himself. “Shit.”

Geralt chuckles and Jaskier glares at him. “Don’t look at me like that!”

“Like what?”

“Like...Geralt.”

Geralt nods sympathetically. He doesn’t know much about the...version of him in Jaskier’s state, but he knows they aren’t together. He can recognize the pain of knowing and not knowing the person in front of you.

It was hard to imagine a version of himself that wasn’t in love with Jaskier. Still, if this Jaskier was at least a little similar to his, he had to be at least a little like the other Geralt. Maybe it wasn’t lack of love. Maybe it was just hard to admit.

He remembers his and Jaskier’s first meeting. Jaskier had been wasted. At the time, Geralt had been sure that was the only reason he even took a second look at him. He’d sent him on his way and assumed that would be that. But then he’d gotten called out, right before his lunch break, on a call about a bird trapped in a fence. When he’d gotten there, he’d found Jaskier, panicking and talking to the bird in stilted tones. It had taken nearly as long to calm Jaskier down as it had taken to free the bird, but he hadn’t minded, not really. Still, it had taken him nearly a year of dating to actually say how he felt. Maybe it was something like that.

“How did you two meet?”

Jaskier folded his hands on his lap, and seemed to be fidgeting with his hands. “I saw him in a tavern. Started talking to him. At him, I guess. I followed him on a monster hunt, and we, ah, got kidnapped by elves. He eventually just stopped asking me to leave him alone.”

Geralt’s sure he’ll go insane if he attempts to process most of that, so he focuses on the familiar. “That’s gotta mean something, right?”

“Maybe…” Jaskier says, but he doesn’t seem convinced.

“You were fighting. Before this, right?”

“Yes. He didn’t want me to go with him, even though I’d been with a hundred times.”

“Maybe he was worried about you getting hurt.” He knew if he’d been in a similar situation, there was no way he’d want Jaskier anywhere near it. 

“I’m not a child. I can make my own decisions.”

Geralt snorts. That was definitely a Jaskier line. Right before he did something stupid.

“Still. I can understand wanting to keep you safe.”

Jaskier rolls his eyes. “I’m never going to be safe. There’s no way to keep people safe.”

“Hmm,” Geralt says, pausing to think. “Why did you want to go with him?”

“Because...if he got hurt. No one would know. And he would think that no one would care.”

“I think...he needs to hear that from you.”

“He’d never believe me.”

“Have you tried?”

“...no.”

Geralt hums again. “You can’t really judge him for not talking about his feelings when you won’t talk about yours.”

“The day Geralt talks about his feelings is the day I put my lute down and never pick it up again.”

“I’m not saying lay all of this out there. I’m just saying, maybe he’s worried about the same things you are. That you’ll push him away.”

“Did you do that to your Jaskier?”

“Once. Yeah.” Geralt rubs the back of his neck. It wasn’t a very pleasant memory. “I got scared and thought he deserved better. So I didn’t answer him for a few days.”

“And?”

Geralt chuckles. “He stormed my apartment and sat on me until I told him what was going on.”

“So you’re saying I should sit on Geralt until he tells me what he’s feeling?”

“I’m just saying to cut him some slack.”

“Ugh,” Jaskier sighs, “The mortifying ordeal of being known.”

Geralt snorted and turned back to the list. As he was settling into the chair, he heard a choked off noise.

“Jaskier?” he asked. The other man was clutching his arm as though he’d been burned. When he finally pulled away, there was a red mark scalded into it.

“I’m...okay.”

“What the fuck was that?”

“If I had to guess? Our counterparts are in trouble. It’s probably related to the spell…” he drifted, pain clear in his eyes.

“We’ll figure it out,” he said, trying to sound soothing. Still, the idea that Jaskier was out there, possibly in pain…

How do you break a spell without magic?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I figured I would drop my Tumblr accounts here for if anyone's interested:
> 
> main: wesawbears  
> Witcher Sideblog: demisexualgeralt


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! Thank you for your continued encouragement, and my apologies for the wait. As you can see, the chapter count keeps going up, though I still want to keep this fairly limited. I basically just wanted to split the big plot part into 2 or 3 chapters. I hope you enjoy!

Geralt leaves the inn, wanting to clear his head for a bit. While he’d surely been in more dire situations than this, it was difficult to remember one that had affected him this deeply. Not in a while, at least.

There were reasons, good reasons, for not letting Jaskier know how he felt. It was hard to remember those reasons when he had another version staring him in the face, a version that insisted there was a world where he and Jaskier worked. A version that was so close to the real thing, but not quite. An off cadence in speech, a smile that didn’t crinkle quite the same way. Fuck. He was getting sentimental.

More than that, though, it had never occurred to him that Jaskier might be hiding feelings of his own. The bard was terrible at masking his discomfort- he couldn’t suffer so much as a stubbed toe without grumbling about it. He wasn’t much different about matters of the heart either. Jaskier could wax poetic about his lost love of the moment for hours on end, until Geralt grew so frustrated he threatened to smash his lute.

He never meant it, of course. He just needed to stop hearing about how Jaskier felt about people who were, no doubt, better for him than Geralt, who could give him jewels and finery, conversation and affection, all that Geralt lacked. Whatever Jaskier felt for him would be quickly washed away in the face of whatever pretty, shiny thing caught his eye each time they parted ways. Geralt was neither shiny, nor pretty. And he knew too well that when he gave his heart away, he would seldom get it back.

Frustrated with himself for brooding so, he turns back to head toward the stables, when he hears a startled cry. He looks up to see Jaskier being dragged out of the inn, the mage’s hand spread across his arm. He doesn’t think, he just lunges, before being pushed back by a wave of magic.

It feels heavy, and each step feels like it presses harder against his chest. He manages to keep his eye on the mage as she drags Jaskier further into the forest. It’s slow-moving, and by the time he reaches them, Jaskier is slumped by a tree, lip split, and thick tendrils of magic in the form of vines holding his arms.

“Leave him be,” Geralt says, reaching for his sword, “He’s done nothing to you.”

“True,” she says, running a finger over a lock of Jaskier’s hair. He tries to bite her and she smirks. “He’s a fun little morsel, isn’t he?” She pets his hair again. “Still, can’t have him ruining the fun. Humans should be seen and not heard.” A tendril wraps around his mouth and his eyes go wide.

“It’s me you want,” Geralt says. “I killed the vampires, not him.”

“Yes...and has it occurred to you that he’s not the one whose suffering I’m concerned with?”

Jaskier makes a noise indicating that he very much disagreed with that assessment.

“Get to the point,” Geralt growls, not in the mood for mind games.

“You killed my lover,” she says, “So, I thought, naturally, that it would only be fair to kill yours. But, seeing as it’s of an unspoken nature, I thought this would be more fun.” She rakes a finger down Jaskier’s neck. “Why kill him when I could do worse?”

“Worf?” Jaskier manages through the vines.

“You’ll have your little bard,” she continues. “Just not the one you remember. Not the one who loves you. The one you were too stupid to keep. You’ll have this...facsimile. And you’ll know that his heart lies with another. And that it’s your fault he’s here.”

Jaskier’s eyes widen and Geralt feels struck. “You’ve laid out your plan nicely. What’s stopping me from killing you and being done with it?”

“Then you’ll lose even the slightest hope of getting your little toy back.”

“It’s not a spell,” Geralt says with growing dread, “It’s a curse.” Curses were harder to break, and in this case, it was likely tied to her. If she was killed, the curse would settle and remain permanent. They needed her to break it.

“Good. You aren’t stupid. This will be so much more fun. Good luck.”

She disappears and the vines release Jaskier. Geralt hurries over to check his wounds. He’s fine, physically, but it’s like a light has gone out in his eyes.

“We’ll break it,” he says, and Jaskier nods. Geralt sighs and helps him up wrapping an arm around his waist. “I promise I will get you home.”

Jaskier’s answering nod is a small thing. Geralt nods and gets them both back to the inn, where Jaskier is quick to fall asleep. Watching him Geralt isn’t sure he’ll sleep again until this is over. Curses were hard to get right, shrouded in mystery and riddles. More than anything, he wished he had Jaskier by his side to help. For now, though, he would have to work with what he has.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your kind words and patience! I still can't believe the reception this has gotten, and I hope I'm living up to your expectations!

Jaskier allows himself the night to grieve, allowing sleep to help soothe his aching arms and aching heart. When he wakes, though, he's quick to set to work. He was a lot of things, but he had never been the type to just lay down and let people tell him his story. He wasn't going to stay cursed in a world with no Wi-Fi and no husband. Wasn't happening.

He grabs other Jaskier's notebook and quickly begins scribbling down any ideas he can think of, every curse he's ever heard a story about. He hears Geralt enter the room, but leaves him be, too engrossed in his work to say anything. 

Eventually, though, Geralt apparently tires of watching him and sits on the bed, with the same air as his husband when they've gotten in a fight and he's worried Jaskier is going to throw a pillow at him. He shakes his head. He can't let himself confuse the worlds.

"What are you writing?" 

"Everything I know about curses," he answers without looking up.

"You don't have magic in your realm. What could you possibly know about curses?"

Jaskier rolls his eyes. "Curses are part of pretty much every Disney movie. You're not special."

Geralt sighs heavily. "You said that before. What's a movie?"

Jaskier huffs and puts his own down briefly. "It's like a story that you can watch on a screen."

Geralt's brow furrows. "Your people rely a lot on screens."

"And yours have witches who curse people. I'm not sure you're in a position to cast judgement." Jaskier sighs. "Either way, stories always come from something true. They have power. Something has to be useful. What do you know about curses?"

"They're more specific than spells," Geralt says after a pause. "With a spell, we could just find another made. Gather some ingredients. A curse can only be broken by satisfying its conditions."

Jaskier writes that down. "Would she have chosen the conditions?"

"Likely not. Curses come from old, foundational magic."

Jaskier looks back at his list. "Like true love?"

"What?" Geralt asks, "Love isn't magic."

Jaskier scoffs. "Love is the oldest magic there is." When Geralt still looks skeptical, Jaskier holds up his list. "All of these curses were broken by true love's kiss."

"There's no way that's a thing."

"It can't hurt to try. Kiss me."

Geralt looks beyond bewildered. "No."

Jaskier pouts. "Why not?"

"Because you're not Jaskier."

Jaskier sighs. He understands- it's not like he wants to kiss this Geralt. It would likely just open the gaping wound in his chest, let in the consuming fear that he would never get to go home. He would have something close to the real thing, but would always know the pain of the illusion. Unless-

"Geralt- you're a genius!"

He thinks he hears a muttered "what the fuck" but he ignores it. "Say what you just said."

"What the fuck?"

Jaskier rolls his eyes. "Before that."

"You're not Jaskier."

"See? She wants us to forget. To resign ourselves to having this. So we need to remember."

"Hmm."

Jaskier settles on the bed, pen poised as though for battle. "That first day. How did you know it wasn't your Jaskier?"

Geralt pauses before answering. "You didn't stir when I woke that morning."

Jaskier nods and writes it down. "I don't notice when my Geralt wakes up in the morning. He's always up before me."

"You...told me what to do."

Jaskier tilts his head. "He doesn't?"

"Not always. Not quite as much."

"Well, he should. This wouldn't have gone so far if one of you had just manned up and gone for it."

"Is that what you did?"

Jaskier smiles at the memory. "I'm very hard to get rid of."

Geralt snorts. "You have that in common then."

Jaskier begins writing, a tune coming easily. It's harder than usual without his guitar, but he's written worse lyrics. This doesn't have to be his best song- just enough that his crazy idea works. He has Geralt continue talking, telling him snippets about how their day would have gone normally. What jam Jaskier likes best, the cadence of his walk, the way Jaskier will sense when Geralt's agitated and hum instead of sing. The way Geralt will sometimes help him rub salve into his hands when they cramp from playing.

When he's finished, he has a tapestry woven with words, clumsy as they may be. He shoves it at Geralt, who looks at him like he's gone mad.

"What is it?"

"I told you. Stories have power. Read it. Out loud."

Jaskier holds his breath as Geralt reads, in starts at first but smoothing out as he realizes. It's a story, of what the day would have held without the curse. He hopes he captures this world's Jaskier, enough to bring him into being at least a little. He thinks he's succeeded by the shine in Geralt's eyes.

As he talks, he feels a rocking, as though the world's been set off its hinges. "Is that…"

"Magic," Geralt says.

"Keep reading!" he yells. The more Geralt reads, the dizzier he feels. He's either done something great or pissed something ancient off.

He passes out before he learns the answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love me a good fairy tale y'all.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! Sorry for the long break- I'm going into finals week, as both a teacher and student, so life is hectic right now. But hopefully this indulgent bit of fluff will make up for it! Thank you as always for reading, kudo-ing and commenting!

Jaskier wakes to a throbbing headache, but far away, the way it did when you knew a painkiller was keeping it bay, but it made your eyes heavy.

He tries to sit up, but feels a tug on his arm when he goes too far. He cries out a little and looks down, realizing he's attached to an IV. Emboldened by a strange flutter of glee, he tugs at it, delighted by the sharp sting that tells him this is real. He's sure if a nurse came in right now, they would be concerned for his mental state, but he can't bring himself to care, not really. Not when he's home. Really home.

Technically, he's in a hospital, but he can work with that. He hears the beeping and whirs of machinery and smells antiseptic instead of dirt and nature. That has to be real, right? He doesn't think he could handle being teased with his normal life, only to wake and have it taken from him.

“What are you doing?” a voice interrupts his reverie.

He looks up and sees Geralt, his Geralt, in the doorway. Instead of leathers and swords, he’s wearing a ratty t-shirt Jaskier bought him on their date to the carnival. Geralt had won him a stuffed dragon and they shared a cotton candy as big as his head. He knew Geralt wore that shirt because it smelled like Jaskier from how many times it had gone back and forth between them and his heart soars at the thought of him seeking comfort in it.

His hair’s in a bun, which is the first sign that he needs a trim, but getting Geralt to cut his hair is similar to getting a toddler to take a bath. Jaskier doesn’t mind. He wants nothing more than to run his fingers through it the way Geralt likes, to let him know that he didn’t stop thinking about him, not once for the time they were apart.

Best of all, on his left hand, his wedding ring sits, same as it always has. Jaskier feels himself tear up at the sight of it. “Geralt,” he manages to rasp after a moment, hoping he can wave off the gravel in his voice as just waking up.

His head tilts and Jaskier laughs a little. He always said that Geralt looked like an owl when he did that. “Baby, it’s me,” he tries again.

Geralt looks at him, before walking over carefully. “You feel like yourself?”

He nods quickly before feeling his head throb. “Ow,”

Geralt chuckles, a little breathless. “Careful. You still have a concussion.” He brushes Jaskier’s bangs back with such tenderness that he almost cries again.

“What happened?”

“You fell down some stairs. Hit your head pretty hard,” he pauses. “I feel like this is deja vu.”

“I don’t remember...was I acting weird?”

Geralt squeezes his hand. “You...said you were from an alternate dimension.”

“I thought I was dreaming…”

Geralt laughs. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry. In my defense, there’s nothing saying alternate dimensions aren’t real.”

“You definitely hit your hard harder than I thought.”

Jaskier whacks him on the arm, which just makes him laugh harder. “You’re a brat,” Jaskier pouts.

“A brat,” Geralt echoes, eyebrow lifting.

“Be nice to me, I have a concussion.”

“I’m being very nice to you.” Geralt says, kissing his palm. Jaskier softens at that, grateful in a way he can’t express.

“Just be grateful I’m only working at 75 percent of my verbal power for the moment. Then you’ll see.”

“I’m sure I will.”

Jaskier feels wrapped up in all the things he wants to say- I missed you, and I’m glad to be home, all things that sound like nonsense, so he settles for nuzzling his arm and saying, “I love you.”

Geralt’s gaze softens. “Love you too, baby.”

They sit there for a few minutes, until Jaskier starts to drift back to sleep from the medication. He can’t stop staring at Geralt, though, too worried that if he looks away, he’ll disappear again. Geralt squeezes his hand. “Sleep, baby. I’m not going anywhere.”

Jaskier nods. “Geralt?”

“Yeah?”

“We should totally find you some leather to wear.”

He hears Geralt’s laugh as he drifts off and smiles. His last thought before falling asleep is that he hopes, wherever they are, other Geralt and Jaskier are as happy as he is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost to the end! One more chapter after this one, and then, I might writer some little snippets in modern verse, so let me know if there's anything you want to see.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! We've made it to the end.
> 
> Thank you all for sticking with this. I never imagined this reception and I'm so grateful for all your kind words. ❤❤❤

Jaskier wakes and immediately coughs, lungs unused to the dirt and dust that tends to accumulate around inns. He's gotten so used to the too clean smell. He tries to whoop with glee and ends up almost choking on the air, but settles after a moment into the lumpy mattress.

Home sweet home.

He doesn't know how it's happened- doesn't care really. Honestly, the fact that everything was fixed and he didn't have to lift a finger adds to the experience. At least, he has to assume things are fixed. There's his lute, and his bags, where he remembered them. His notebook is askew from where he left it though, and his heart lurches. Geralt wouldn't have looked through it- he hopes. That would be dreadfully embarrassing, considering all the little notes he's left in there.

He opens it and finds new writing. It's his handwriting, but he didn't write these. It's a story, he notices, the story of Geralt fighting the vampires. Only this time, he doesn't push Jaskier away. He sighs. It must have been the other version of himself's way of coping with the new world he was in. He hopes Jaskier wasn't too harsh with him, at any rate. Irrationally, he hopes other Jaskier wasn't too harsh with Geralt. 

He's finishing the story when he hears familiar footfalls. "You're awake."

"Typical. You didn't even bring breakfast." Jaskier sighs. "What would you do without me, witcher?"

Geralt's face changes, brow furrowing in surprise. "Jaskier?"

Jaskier smiles. "Yes, whatever you did must have worked. I am blessedly myself again, not that you-"

He's interrupted by Geralt tipping his chin up and looking at him with those gorgeous amber eyes and- dear gods, Geralt is kissing him.

Geralt is- really kissing him, sweet Melitele. His mouth is warm and sure and firm, the way Jaskier's imagined a thousand times. But his hands- Geralt is cradling his face like he's precious, like he's worried that Jaskier is going to break apart, or pull away. 

That thought is what finally makes Jaskier say fuck it and melt into the embrace.

He pulls Geralt fiercely towards him, reveling in the startled noise Geralt makes and gives all he has. He has no idea what's possessed Geralt to behave in this manner, but Jaskier's never turned down a free gift.

Eventually though, mortal as he is, he needs to breathe and he gently moves out of Geralt's grasp. Geralt, for his part, looks equally bereft at his moving away and beautifully kiss flushed.

"Not that I'm not loving this, darling," Jaskier says, tucking a strand of Geralt's hair behind his ear, "but what prompted this?"

Geralt looks stricken. "What do you remember?"

Jaskier is quick to correct him. "No, no, I remember everything. I know there was a...spell, or something-"

"A curse."

Oh. That's interesting. "I was cursed?"

Geralt swallows. "I was. I killed the mage's lover, so she-"

"Took me from you. But why would that do anything?"

Geralt gives him an unimpressed look. "You love me?"

"I do."

Jaskier's mouth feels dry. "So this isn't just- relief?"

"No."

A giggle comes up unbidden from Jaskier's throat. "You love me!"

"Jaskier…" Geralt looks like he's swallowed sea water.

"Oh hush, you big lug, none of that self loathing. I love you too."

"You...do?"

Jaskier rolls his eyes. "Of course I do! Why would I follow you as I do if I didn't?"

Geralt's eyes shift uncomfortably. "The songs?"

Jaskier sighs and lays a hand on his arm. "I can write songs about anything. It's just a...happy benefit of your company."

"Hmm."

"Don't give me that tone."

The corner of Geralt's lip working upwards is the only giveaway. "Hmm." 

Exasperated, Jaskier pulls at him again and kisses him soundly. Geralt melts easily enough into the kiss and Jaskier finally eases his hand into that glorious hair. Geralt makes a sound of approval deep in his throat and Jaskier sighs into his mouth.

Later, as he's laying on Geralt's chest, running his fingers over the medallion that lays over it, he contemplates the strange dream world he left behind. If he ever ends up there again, he owes himself a damn fruit basket.


End file.
